


Euphoria

by bloodvein



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Cheating, Don't Like Don't Read, Extramarital Affairs, F/M, Season 1, Shameless Smut, Thanksgiving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:01:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27836476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodvein/pseuds/bloodvein
Summary: For all of Elliot's lack of decorum, he is stunningly honest.
Relationships: Olivia Benson/Elliot Stabler
Comments: 8
Kudos: 29





	Euphoria

**Author's Note:**

> This work was originally posted on FF as part of the Random Acts of EO contest. Enjoy!

She despises snow this time of year.

Somehow, the temperature always manages to rise just enough that the snow is no longer fluffy and white, but rather a brown, muddy, slushy mess on the ground. It soaks through her boots as she walks the few blocks back to her apartment, and on a night like tonight, the sound of her feet on the pavement is nearly the only noise. The late November air is unrelenting in its harsh drifts and swirls around her as if mother nature is coaxing her to go home and stay there.

There is a plastic bag in her hand, a small number of groceries and a bottle of wine stashed in it. She pulls her coat further into herself and shivers. Only a block away from her apartment, Olivia lets her thoughts drift. This holiday is always rough for her. Her mother had never celebrated or tried to make the occasions pleasant for her.

This year she has something to be thankful for. Since joining the NYPD, she'd had little things to be grateful for. A sense of belonging, fellow officers, and like-minded, justice-seeking individuals began to come into her life. It's her first full year with the 1-6. Finally, she felt something within herself that she had rarely felt before.

Pride.

The other detectives in the squad are good to her. Cragen knew of her past and mentors her at every turn in the road.

Her partner is there for her too. Olivia tucks her hair behind her ear and shakes her head. _Not tonight,_ she thinks. She won't wallow in self-pity or think of him, miss him tonight. Her mother had met Elliot one time, and she had correctly assumed the nature of their relationship, though they denied it to her.

_You're sleeping with my daughter, aren't you?_

It had happened only once. Which was already too much. She knew better – they knew better. But a case had shattered Elliot, and not wanting to bring those nightmares home to his wife, he'd cried silently on Olivia's couch while they drank their beers.

And in the middle of the night in the shadows of her forgotten television, he'd kissed her, made love to her. It happened so suddenly, her body melted into his. She was weakened by his touch. Every caress of his hands and his mouth scarred her – Elliot was seared into her skin. She could never shake the feeling of him.

In the deepest, darkest parts of her mind, she had always saved a bit of hope that he would look at her and see what she sees within him. It was pitiful to hold her breath for a married man. That he would leave his wife and his children behind for her. He would lose everything if it came to that. So, she carries on. To him, she denies it ever happened.

The pale walls of her bedroom know the truth, however. She lays in bed awake at night, remembering the sounds he made, how he held her, how he carried her into her bedroom and let his mouth slip between her thighs.

When she gets into her apartment, her coat is off and she opens the bottle of wine before she even thinks about the food in the bag. A quarter of the bottle is now in the glass and she will most likely finish it prior to going to bed tonight. There is no work tomorrow, she's off for once and she will watch tv and think about the things that lead her here.

It's the proper atonement for what they've done. She carries the burden buried in her heart that she has wronged in her life. God may not exist for her but answering for her sins and misdeeds does. _It's only fair,_ she rationalizes.

The kitchen counter is cool beneath her left hand as her right one tips the wine glass to her lips. The rich, opulent liquid is drained quickly and she pours a second glass when she hears a familiar knock on her apartment door. She doesn't need to go to the door or look through the peephole to know who stands on the other side.

Tonight she won't answer the door. For his sake and hers.

He knocks again and waits for a few beats. Olivia needs him to walk away and go back to his family. To his wife. She isn't a charity case and she isn't in the mood to talk tonight, so she stays at the counter.

After another minute, she hears him digging out the keys from his pocket.

Fuck.

She had given him the key for emergencies only. Tonight is not an emergency in her eyes. Olivia stays with her back to the door when the light from the apartment hallway floods into her dim kitchen. With a sigh, he closes the door and locks it but he stays standing by the door. He doesn't come closer.

"Why didn't you answer the door?"

Olivia just shakes her head and sips the wine in her hand. There are a thousand reasons she didn't answer the door, and he knows all of them. He wants to hear the truth from her. He wants her to admit she didn't want him to come inside.

"You shouldn't be here," she whispers, her tongue swiping the little bit of wine that had dripped from the corner of her mouth. Behind her, Elliot steps closer to her.

"I know," he acknowledges. "I know."

Olivia closes her eyes and she can easily see the way he's standing. His hands are curled inside of his pockets, he's staring directly ahead at her because he takes every opportunity to look at her like this, without fear of her noticing. He probably has a five o'clock shadow. She knows the burn of his stubble against her neck, her breasts. She hears the thick sound of him swallowing nervously – all the uncharted territory they are navigating makes him nervous.

They speak at the same time because the silence hangs heavily between them.

"You should go-"

"Liv-"

She sighs and reaches for the cupboard, her hand seeking out another glass as he takes another step forward. He won't leave until he talks to her, and she doesn't have it in her to fight anymore.

Olivia can see what will happen all too clearly. It doesn't matter where. It's a matter of when. She likes to think of how his breath would come in pants against her neck, or how he would grip her waist as he fucked into her. She wants to know every forbidden, dark desire he's thought of when it comes to her.

The bottle is clutched in her grasp, but he whispers one word that stops her in her tracks. "Don't."

"Thought you liked wine?" Olivia returns the same low whisper. She can't trust her voice not to give away the fact her heart is hammering in her chest or the way her skin has felt warm, too warm the second he walked in. Elliot is so close to her now. His breath is on her neck. His hand is beside hers on the kitchen counter.

"I just like the way it tastes on your mouth."

She sucks in a breath but she can't move. They had flirted a lot over the past year, and she's just as guilty as he is. He's never been this blatant before, he's never laid out his desires on the table like this. As if the words that came out of his mouth were just a simple discussion about the weather.

As if he wasn't married.

His cheek brushes hers when she speaks. "What do you want, Elliot?" His body drapes her back, the thick material of his overcoat tickles her thigh. Need blooms deep in her stomach and brings a glow of warmth to her cheeks. Her body responds to him regardless of what her mind is telling her, though her heart tells differently. It's a constant battle between what is right and what is between her and Elliot.

"You," he grates.

For all of Elliot's lack of decorum, he is stunningly honest.

She turns to face him for the first time since he entered the apartment. It's the way he looks at her that shakes her to her very core. In her, he gets answers to questions he's had his whole life. She knows only because it's the same feeling she gets when she meets his gaze.

Her heart settles into a steady, upbeat rhythm. It feels right when he touches her. He's slow at first, inching his fingers up her arms with a featherlight touch. His hands meet at the nape of her neck, his thumbs guiding her face up towards his. That sense of belonging that she had felt when she joined the NYPD has nothing on the way Elliot makes her feel.

What started as an emotional affair has blossomed into a physical one and it's only deepened from there. These tender moments with him don't belong inside of an adulterous relationship. They should be deep in the throes of passion – instead, she is tipping her mouth up to his. Even tonight, on Thanksgiving, Elliot moves slowly, deliberately.

He turns her until her lower back meets the counter. There is no rush between them. Elliot's mouth slips over hers expertly, and it's familiar and thrilling all in one. She's still getting to know him like this, in such a raw and provocative way.

Olivia's tongue seeks his. She wants the taste of him on her. Somehow it will absolve her of the guilt because she cannot think of anything else besides the taste of Elliot. He's the remnants of gin on her mouth, he's the taste of peppermint on her lips.

They progress together. First, it's his jacket so she can feel the deep lines of the muscles in his torso. Then it's their shirts, her bra. Her breasts are against his chest, the light dusting of hair on his abdomen tease at her navel.

Elliot leads her out of the kitchen and to her couch, gently pushing her onto her back. He removes her shoes and kicks his off somewhere she cannot see from this angle. They simultaneously work on their own pants, but he is quicker than her. He's naked and hovering over her, dragging her jeans down her legs along with her panties. When he's done, he takes in the sight of her, a pained noise forming at the back of his throat.

She knows his pain. She shares it too.

Olivia opens her thighs to accommodate his thick body. He is large and powerful on her like this, and it's a sight she will not soon forget. His mouth finds the inside of her thigh and he presses it against her skin.

"Elliot," she breathes.

She looks to him for guidance.

They lead each other down the narrow path of temptation, of fulfillment.

* * *

He needs to explore every inch of her.

He's selfish – he's had her before, and yet he's here, wanting more, taking more. Olivia's back arches off the couch, seeking more of him. His tongue meets her smooth skin and he groans deeply at the taste of her. It's even better than he remembers. His finger slides through the wet heat of her, and his eyes slam shut at the sensation.

She gasps when he flicks over her clit, and she's so, so wet for him now. There's an edge to her voice, her need is only growing as he continues to tease her. Olivia's fingernails scrape at the back of his head, pulling, coaxing him into the abyss of her. He likes to think he's gotten to know her pretty well over the last year and a half, but she is still an enigma to him.

He sees her for the woman she is behind closed doors, without the badge or the gun. She doesn't see herself in the same light and it bemuses Elliot endlessly.

_I'm your mistress now, Elliot._

She'd said that once, shortly after the first time they'd slept together. It wasn't true, it wasn't.

_You and I both know you're not just a mistress._

He plants his mouth on the crux of her pelvis, up to her hip bone. There's a small freckle there, where her hips curve in the most maddening way. Every edge of her peels away at his resolve. He's met plenty of women in his lifetime and none of them match up to the woman beneath him.

The eroticism of Olivia will be the death of him.

His mouth barely has time to close over one of her hardened nipples before she is gently but firmly pressing him back until he is sitting upright on her couch. Her legs straddle him and his hands brush back her dark, silky hair from her face. Olivia meets his gaze as her hand grasps him intimately.

Elliot's breath rushes out of him. She strokes him, torturously slow, up and down. Her touch isn't rough, nor is it gentle – she seems to know the amount of pressure he craves. One day he will watch her on her knees for him if he's lucky, and the thought sends more blood rushing to his cock, if it's even possible. He groans low in the back of his throat, cursing into the heated air between them.

His hand cups her jaw, his thumb skimming over her bottom lip. "Do you want this?" Trust exists intrinsically between them and he still asks, still needs to know. If she says no, he'll get up and leave. It's important beyond the limits of his lust for him.

Olivia swivels her hips and lines him up at her entrance. With her palms now resting on his chest, her forehead touches his and she whispers _'yes',_ just as her heat takes him, sinks onto him. They moan together and for a few borrowed moments, it's just this. Her hips rising and falling, his glutes flexing to meet her.

Eventually, there's a sheen of sweat on both of them. His hands know the weight of her breasts and he flicks relentlessly at her nipples with his tongue, his fingers. Olivia is tight as hell around him, and he will never bore of the way her face contorts when he is sheathed fully inside of her. It's a mix of pleasure and pain – a delicious paradox they are both addicted to. She cries out when he rises a bit more off the couch into her and she falls, squeezing rhythmically around him.

"Liv," he growls, and they both ignore that it's the first time he's called her that while they're fucking. His heart is stammering in his chest, his cock is begging for relief but he isn't done with her yet.

Elliot's fingers dig into her hips. There will be marks on her, memories of him and their time on this couch. She will probably curse at him when she sees them in the mirror, but for now, she encourages the grip he has on her, and her nails scratch down his chest _just_ hard enough.

"Oh fuck," she whimpers. It's an entirely new side of Olivia before him. "Do it." She's desperate and so high up so quickly, and he obliges, driving up hard into her. He feels her teetering on the edge once again. His breath is coming in quick, hot pants against her neck as he takes her. They are gasping together, stealing each other's breath, their slick skin sliding in perfect harmony.

Their hands move frenetically over their bodies. His left-hand grips the back of her neck and holds her to him – his right touches her, thumbs her swollen clit over and over again. In the last moments before they lose themselves, she tips his chin up to her and covers his lips with her own. They swallow each others' cries and her orgasm triggers his, he spills hotly into her while he fights to stay within her clenching body.

Olivia's hips roll over his until they are too sensitive to keep moving. He stays inside of her even after he turns them until her back is on the couch, his forehead resting between her breasts.

Elliot fights the exhaustion. He still is in no rush to leave but he refuses to fall asleep. These are the moments he craves with her, to listen to her racing heart begin to slow down as she descends from her euphoria. Her hands smooth over his back, and up to the back of his head.

He looks up at the beauty of her. Her hair is damp with sweat and he can see the way it sticks to the nape of her neck. He wants to press his mouth there, to taste her salty skin again. She's still trying to catch her breath, just as he is. There is no worry on her face, no guilt or shame. He knows it doesn't exist within him. Not here with Olivia.

He breathes a little easier with her cooling skin against his face.

Outside of her apartment window, sirens whir as they pass by.


End file.
